


The Saviour, the Soldier, the Scientist, the Saint

by greygerbil



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: One early morning, Jonathan finds himself at Pembroke Hospital with all three of his progeny together in one place for the first time.





	The Saviour, the Soldier, the Scientist, the Saint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



> I really enjoyed your idea of putting all of these lads in the same room somehow, so I hope I managed to write it in a way you like with this treat. This is a gen fic, but I fear my favourite interpretation that each of Jonathan's progeny is like at least 15 per cent in love with him may have bled through a little.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Jonathan never got together with Elisabeth and thus decided to stay in London after the end of the game.

“Success rates have not been as great as we wished, but what has sometimes worked in the past was injecting people who suffer from the flu with blood of those who have recovered from it. I have done some experiments with this technique in this very hospital!”

Sean gave a nod and Jonathan commended him for being polite enough not to use the chance to remind Edgar that his dabbling in blood transfusions had also caused quite a few big problems in this very hospital, as Sean must have undoubtedly learned from Old Bridget. In turning Edgar, Jonathan had proven he honestly believed that his friend was not going to be so reckless again, for otherwise he could have never taken responsibility for letting him loose on the people of London once more. Still, he made sure his friend knew he was keeping an eye on him regardless. Trust was a virtue, but Sean was the man for virtues, and Jonathan a pragmatist.

“Is that an option for the people in my asylum?” Sean asked. To answer the question of what to do with his sick was the reason he had dared come back to Pembroke Hospital, and perhaps the one motivation that could have been strong enough to drive him to it, Jonathan thought. After all, Sean’s departure here had not been an easy one.

“Possibly, but they would have to come here for it. I doubt you have the equipment or the sterile environment needed. I know a big problem is that some people are too weak to even make the trip and Milton can’t pick up the whole city. Plus, with how quickly this flu acts sometimes... it is an issue to administer the treatment in time,” Edgar admitted. “Some people die within a day or two, after all. But I would gladly provide help to all that can make it here.”

“The Spanish flu is far more deadly than other flu viruses, but it’s not altogether different from them,” Jonathan added. “In many cases, it can be weakened or prevented if people eat enough and the right things, don’t sleep in the wet and the draught, don’t live too close to other sick people, and keep proper hygiene.”

“That is difficult for most at the docks,” Sean admitted. “Even the ones who have a roof over their head often work long hours in cold factories, shoulder-to-shoulder with other people who can’t afford to take time off for sickness, and they have just enough money to buy whatever food will make sure they don’t to starve.”

Jonathan nodded his head. “Yes, I know. It’s what makes treating this epidemic so difficult.”

Not that he would claim that the Red Queen had been an easy foe to destroy, but at least she was but one originator with a clear goal. What had survived of her tainted progeny could still infect others now, but it usually required a bite, as with all vampires. A monster of Doris Fletcher’s terrible power may have been able to turn the audience by proximity, but there were none of that strength left, just remnants of the supernatural plague that Jonathan would have to root out in time.

The flu, on the other hand, had no mind and no malice. It chose victims at random and ran rampant through the population. It was not the wrath of some devil or the effort of a mind twisted by hatred. There was nothing to be understood about its motive since it simply ran the course of a virus in nature, devoid of moral or reason – and every single carrier had the ability to pass it on airborne. While cases of new infection had dropped, people were still dying now. London’s nightmare had shifted, but it was not yet over.

Sean folded his hands behind his back. “I will try to find some more tents. There is still some space before the shelter proper. Perhaps I can use them to separate people more effectively. It just makes it difficult for me. If they are inside, I can tend to them during the daylight hours, but in the tents... perhaps if I just get the worst cases onto the second floor? I have some people who help me, Lord protect them, but it’s best if I treat the truly sick myself, since I can’t get infected.”

“That might help, but remember you need to sleep, too,” Edgar said, adjusting the seat of the skull on his desk. “A tired healer makes mistakes, Mr. Hampton, even an immortal one. Jonathan and I should know!”

“And make sure you really do only put those who have the Spanish flu close together,” Jonathan cautioned. “Otherwise, they might up infected with two strains. Few people survive that.”

“Would you be willing to come over and have a look at my sick, in that case?” Sean asked. “I have learned a little bit about medicine running my shelter, but I don’t claim to be a doctor, or even a nurse. I fear I wouldn’t be able to tell which is which.”

“I can certainly-”

Something banged against Edgar’s office door. Before any of them had a chance to do more than turn towards the noise, it opened, admitting Geoffrey into the room.

“Ah, Mr. McCullum,” Edgar said, shrinking perceptibly into his desk chair even as his face grew harder. “Still the same good manners as ever, I see.”

Geoffrey opened his mouth, but was distracted by the sight of Sean standing by Jonathan’s side. He seized him up head to toe.

“What is that?” he asked, glancing at Jonathan.

“ _Who_ ,” Jonathan corrected with feigned patience, as if he were talking to a child.

“Sean Hampton,” Sean answered. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCullum. I’ve heard of you.”

Jonathan had of course warned Sean of him, his most volatile progeny. Despite that fact, Sean faced him with only a hint of trepidation in his gaze and a pale smile on his lips.

“I’ve heard that name from my guards. You’re the Sad Saint.” Geoffrey narrowed his eyes at him. “But... you’re a leech. No, not even that.” His mouth twisted, surprised and bemused, uncomprehending. “You’re a maggot.”

Geoffrey took a step towards Sean and Jonathan stepped between them in the way only a vampire could, faster than the blink of an eye. Though he had known Geoffrey long enough now to say that he would not immediately rip the head off an Ekon who was obviously friendly with both Jonathan and Edgar, Skals were lesser beings to everyone, even their own cursed kindred. Besides, Sean had done nothing to deserve being menaced by a man carrying more guns and knives than he had in his whole asylum full of militant unionists and crooks. If this protectiveness was in part apology for the time Jonathan himself had forced Sean into submission, it was no less honest.

“Is this a joke?” Geoffrey asked Jonathan.

“It’s not. Sean is my progeny, in some fashion, and I’d ask you to leave your brethren alone.”

As usual when Jonathan reminded Geoffrey of the relationship between them, annoyance spread over Geoffrey’s face.

“You made two Ekons and a Skal? How did that happen?” Geoffrey leaned sideways to look at Sean. “I can see the rot in your face, but you don’t act like any maggot I’ve ever seen. You look less torn-up, too. Why?”

Indeed, apart from his bright eyes and some blooming bruises and open scrapes, Sean looked little different from any healthy human now. Having seen Old Bridget, Jonathan believed that perhaps the rot was combated by the vampire blood as much as the hunger was, leaving these two looking so different from the other Skals he’d met.

“Dr. Reid is not the one who originally turned me, sir, but it’s thanks to his blood that I am well now,” Sean answered. Though he took a short half-step sideways from behind the protection of Jonathan’s back to look Geoffrey in the face, he still kept the distance, and Jonathan, between them.

Geoffrey scoffed. “This town is getting madder by the minute. Two leeches in a hospital, a maggot running a poor house...”

“And a vampire leading the Guard of Priwen,” Jonathan reminded him.

“I have had members of the Guard in my night asylum, sir. I may be a Skal, but I don’t turn away yours, either,” Sean said.

“Now that sounds dangerous,” Edgar muttered from behind the desk.

“I must agree,” Jonathan said, surprised, looking over his shoulder. “What if they find out what you are?”

“If someone stands bleeding in my entranceway, I won’t send them away,” Sean insisted. “They are children of the Lord, too. I just try to stay away from them as much as I can if they are conscious and sound of mind.”

“Well, the way they treat even mortals makes one wonder how safe they are to be around at all,” Edgar said, with a pointed glance at Geoffrey. “You always insisted you didn’t kill living men and yet, without Jonathan’s help, I would not be here tonight.”

“My men should not have gone overboard, but don’t pretend you weren’t a special case,” Geoffrey snapped. “If anyone should be happy for all the breaks they caught, it should be you, considering how much responsibility you bear, Doctor.”

“This from the mouth of the fanatic who turned London into a mob-ruled police state and tried to kill Jonathan! You were the one lucky that he did not just end you.”

“It seems too late now to fight,” Sean interjected, quietly. “All those decisions Dr. Reid has made – there is no turning them back now.”

“Sean is right,” Jonathan said.

“Of course.” Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to hover like that, Johnny. I’m not touching your little Skal pet.” A sardonic smile stretched across his face. “Is this everyone you made? Or are there more? You were a busy boy...”

“This is everyone,” Jonathan said tightly. “And believe me that I thought hard about each decision.”

“Really? It seems to me only the one to turn _me_ should’ve been a struggle. We know Dr. Swansea is an ardent devotee of yours and the Skal seems to support you just as mindlessly. I guess immortality would get boring without someone to stroke your pride, wouldn’t it?” Geoffrey jeered.

“That’s nonsense!”

If anything, turning Geoffrey had been the most selfish and impulsive decision he’d made, hurt and full of rage like he’d been after their brutal fight, determined to make him understand the plight of vampires if he wanted to or not. Edgar, despite everything, was not a bad man, and to let him die would have meant to disappoint a friend and take another doctor from suffering London; and without Sean, who really did not deserve death for trying to aid William Bishop, anyway, all the dilapidated docks had for stability was a kindly barkeeper.

“What are you doing here?” Edgar asked, crossings his arms over his chest. “Did you just come to insult my guest?”

“Sun’s coming up,” Geoffrey muttered, grudgingly. “I need a place to stay.”

“You have an odd way of asking for help,” Jonathan noted.

“You have odd company,” Geoffrey gave back, glancing at Sean, who held his gaze. “Don’t act like I can’t be surprised at how many progeny you have. If you think I’m going to stand back while you turn half of London...”

“It’s three people, Geoffrey, and I didn’t even turn Sean. Besides, this is Edgar’s hospital, so I defer you to _his_ goodwill,” Jonathan answered with a friendly smile.

Edgar made a bit of a show of contemplating the request, which Jonathan could not begrudge him.

“Well, you certainly will not have free roam of the hospital,” he said, finally.

“What, you’re going to lock me in like a rabid dog?”

“If that’s what you choose to behave like...”

“Still, we won’t let him burn in the sun, will we?” Jonathan asked Edgar with some insistence in his voice.

Edgar gave a slightly sullen shrug. “I suppose not.”

“I had not realised it’s so late,” Sean murmured, worriedly glancing at Jonathan. “I should have left a while ago. There are a few of my flock I need to check on in the day... I wonder if I could make it back? The eastern docks are not so far.”

“Not a chance, maggot,” Geoffrey said. “The next Priwen hideout is closer and I can’t even make it there.”

“Your people will be fine for one day and I’m sure you are welcome to stay,” Jonathan added.

“Naturally,” Edgar said, much more genially now. “You already know the place, too, Mr. Hampton.”

Sean looked unconvinced, but nodded his head. “It seems I have no choice. Thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Swansea.”

“I really would like to keep an eye on Mr. McCullum, though. I have already seen your men sneak through the old morgue,” Edgar said, steepling his fingers before him on the desk. “I won’t have you spying here.”

“You will watch him by yourself?” Jonathan asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not as helpless as I used to be!”

But he was also no match for Geoffrey, which Jonathan knew Edgar was smart enough to realise. Unsurprisingly, seeing Geoffrey seemed to tear open wounds that were fresh enough to be barely healed and woke a competitiveness Jonathan could see veering into a bad direction quickly, especially with Geoffrey’s martial temper at the receiving end.

“In that case, I would join you two,” Jonathan said. “Otherwise, you’ll sit all day arguing.”

Or fighting until the room was painted red.

“If you must,” Geoffrey said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Dr. Swansea needs the escort, I guess.”

Edgar gave him a dirty look as he got up and crossed the office to open the door. “Follow me,” he ordered. “There’s a room on the third floor we can use.”

“What about me?” Sean asked Jonathan, looking a bit lost standing there in the middle of Edgar’s office.

Jonathan halted. Since Sean had been pacified by his blood, there was no reason not to let him wander the place if he so pleased. He had been nothing but perfectly civil.

“You are welcome to have my bed,” Jonathan said. “Or you can help me keep the peace between those two, if you’d like the one day you spend away from your flock to still be filled with strife and little sleep...”

Sean gave a small smile. “Mr. McCullum does not seem to find me a peaceful presence.”

Jonathan shook his head. “I won’t say his bark is worse than his bite, for I have felt his bite and it is sharp. But I think you simply confuse him, and the rest is only his charming personality.”

“In that case, I would stay with the rest of you. This hospital holds some memories I’d rather not retread... all the chaos poor Harriet caused... and some of the staff might still find it unsettling to see me, even if you cleared my name.”

“In that case...”

Jonathan gestured at him to follow.

He found Edgar and Geoffrey in a windowless storage room upstairs. Mattresses and blankets were stacked against the wall and could easily be moved to make four make-shift beds. Without comment, Jonathan got to work, which prompted the others to join in. Edgar locked the door from inside.

“This should do for a day, at least,” Jonathan said, as he handed Geoffrey an old, threadbare blanket which had no doubt been sorted out in better times, but was now back in use.

“This reminds me of the war,” Geoffrey muttered.

“That’s what I was thinking, too,” Jonathan said, pulling off his shoes before he lowered himself down on a mattress that sagged beneath his weight. “Where were you stationed, anyway?”

“All over the Eastern front,” Geoffrey answered. “Came back a year earlier than you with a dozen broken bones and shrapnel wounds after a round from an eighteen-pounder hit our trench parapets. I don’t feel those anymore, now, at least.”

“No, vampirism is a very potent cure.” He glanced over at Edgar watching him from where he perched on his mattress. “You were never at the front, were you, Edgar?”

“I haven’t the stomach for that kind of thing.” Edgar shook his head. “Since I led a hospital, it was decided I would be of more use here – starred occupation and all that –, which was very likely true. What about you, Mr. Hampton? I know they always spoke of you, the poor from the docks who came here. You were never gone.” He paused. “Ah, but you’re Irish, of course. No conscription for you. And I doubt unlike our friend McCullum, you’d go to the front because you want to...”

“A few officers tried to get me to sign up once, what with manpower being so short, but the gangs around my parts chased them off,” Sean said, sheepishly. “I think they noted me down on exemption of being with the clergy, even though I’m not. I wondered sometimes if I should’ve gone since it would have only been fair, but... I just abhor the thought of such mass slaughter, and I didn’t want to carry a gun. Besides, the people who came back from the war ruined, and the poor widows and orphaned children often had nowhere to stay. The shelter has been fuller than ever.”

“Makes no sense to send all the men to war, anyway,” Geoffrey said with a shrug, stretching out on the mattress. “Some poor house worker or lily-livered doctor will make for little more than cannon fodder. Jonathan was an exception, but we all know that he has a thirst for brutality sometimes...”

Jonathan frowned at Geoffrey, but could not find it in him to raise his voice to disagree when Geoffrey’s vampire nature was proof of his claim. There was something dark in Jonathan that Geoffrey had seen with his own eyes.

“Impossibly, we’ve found something to agree on. The first part, at least. I firmly believe Jonathan has never done more harm than absolutely necessary,” Edgar said.

“Then maybe you should stop trying to pick a fight with me...” Geoffrey interrupted himself as he glanced over at Sean. “This _is_ a joke,” he reiterated. “What are you doing? Praying? You’re a Skal!”

Sean, who had folded his hands under his chin where he knelt on the bed, opened his eyes briefly to glance at Geoffrey.

“ _Nár lagaí Dia thú_ ,” he answered.

It seemed Sean had identified his fellow Dubliner by the accent, but Jonathan could say little more than that he had indeed spoken Irish to him, not knowing the language himself.

Geoffrey snorted. “Oh, so you _can_ get cheeky, holy man?”

“Not at all,” Sean said, perhaps a touch too innocently. “I’m praying for you as well.”

“What did he say?” Edgar asked.

“‘May God not weaken me’,” Geoffrey answered, sinking back against the mattress. “As if I’m not already hiding from the crosses of my own men...”

“Sean doesn’t have to do that,” Jonathan interjected. “Though I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it really is his faith, in which case you shouldn’t shrug off his prayers.”

“Really?”

Geoffrey’s brows were drawn as he looked over at Sean, who was still sitting with his eyes closed.

“See what you learn about the world if you don’t stake every vampire you meet to the ground at the first opportunity?” Edgar asked. “This is what the Brotherhood has been trying to tell the Guard for decades.”

“I’ve also learned that some humans are as dangerous as vampires, so you could add that to my perspective shifts regarding the Brotherhood,” Geoffrey snapped back.

“I know very little about the Brotherhood or the Guard,” Sean said, raising his head. “Maybe you could explain it to me tomorrow night?”

Jonathan wondered if Old Bridget had really left Sean that clueless, or if such distraction tactics were something he’d adopted to keep the gangs from breaking each other’s heads in his shelter.

“I’d be happy to answer all your question as far as I’m allowed! The Brotherhood of the Stole has always striven to share knowledge if appropriate instead of hoarding it for purposes of attack,” Edgar said, with a long look at Geoffrey.

“I suppose you should learn about the Guard now before you do it at the end of a stake, maggot,” Geoffrey muttered. “But we’re not as talkative as the fools from the Brotherhood.”

“Gentlemen,” Jonathan said, tiredly. “In the evening, if you please.”

It was admittedly not as good as Sean’s attempt, but the greatest storm seemed to have blown over, anyway. They laid in silence in the dark that they could all see perfectly well in. Geoffrey held his hand on a bulge under his coat that Jonathan was sure was a stake hanging off the side of his belt, and though his eyes were closed, he couldn’t help but feel like Geoffrey was very aware of what went on around him. Edgar had turned on his side, fully towards Jonathan. Sean laid on his back, hands folded over the cross on his chest, looking like a saint’s funerary relief on a tomb in some church catacomb.

They were very different, his progeny, and yet, thinking over their words, Jonathan wondered if that was really true in every sense. In the end, did they not all think themselves protectors of this city? And was that not how Jonathan had tried to approach London once he had gained control over his powers, too? Even Aloysius Dawson, in truth, had thought he was the same, but Jonathan had not picked him, just the ones who he believed had some true benevolence and sense behind their decisions.

He could only hope that he had chosen wisely.


End file.
